


I Need This

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom!Patrick, Fluff, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, M/M, No band, Orgasm Denial, Slightly Alternate Universe, Smut, pete as a CEO, pete makes it better, porn with a bit of plot, workaholic patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8466595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: Pete Wentz loves his life... Being the CEO of a brand like Decaydance that not only administered music contracts, but did all the artwork and branding for some of the coolest bands around, plus direct marketing on social media and fashion design, was the greatest gig Pete could imagine, short of being in a band himself. Plus, he was damned good at his job. He also loved being married to Patrick Stumph. Pete had never met someone who could literally play every instrument he’d ever come across, and also had the compositional talent of Mozart and Prince put together. Patrick could just look at lyrics and find the catchiest tune, or write the notes that would carry a song from interesting to groundbreaking. He also had the most amazing voice EVER, but staunchly refused to sing in public. He also loved that Patrick was a dominating son of a bitch. OR, Patrick has a bad day and Pete lets him work all that stress out by tying him up :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thanks to @SelketsChild for helping me beta this and for telling me it wasn't absolute crap. She is seriously the most incredibly thorough person in the world!!!

 

“See you later, babe.” 

 

Pete tossed the familiar words at his husband on his way towards the door, but the silence that followed made him pause. He looked back to the island, where Patrick was hunched over his laptop engrossed in something, mug of coffee cradled in his hands like a lifeline. His hair was adorably mussed and the t-shirt he was wearing was so worn, Pete could see a delectable hint of collarbone peeking out from under the stretched collar. Of course, one doesn’t just leave the house when creamy, beautiful collarbones are calling out to you.

 

Detouring into the kitchen, Pete wrapped his arms around his husband and nestled his face into his neck, dipping down to press a soft kiss to that patch of skin revealed by the old tee. He smelled of sleep and sweat and _Patrick,_ and Pete couldn’t get enough. He peeked over the t-shirt clad shoulder to get a look at what was holding Patrick in a thrall. 

  
“That the new song from Gym Class Heroes?” The grunting assent made Pete wonder, for the millionth time, what the possible differences could be between a zombie and Patrick Stumph before noon. Well…minus the complete and utter gorgeousness, and the rudimentary ability to form words that Patrick would sometimes master after his first cup of coffee. “Well, what do you think of it?” 

 

Patrick took another sip of coffee and gave a contemplative hum--a marked improvement from the cranky grunting. His voice was still adorably rough, the rasping tone sending a shiver of want straight to Pete’s groin, but he pushed it down, trying to concentrate. “It’s…different. They sent me a basic melody with the lyrics but it feels…off. I’m gonna to have to mess with it for a while.” 

 

Pete kissed his cheek softly. “If anyone can write the greatest hook for the world’s most surprising band, it’s you, babe.” 

 

Patrick smiled, and let Pete nuzzle his neck one more time before kissing him goodbye.

 

~//~

 

Pete: < _Hows the song goin babe? I bet ur smashing it!!!!!! >_

 

Patrick: _< Hmphh. More like about to smash something.>_

 

Pete: _< better not be hvng fun w/o me!!! ;) ;) ;P >_

 

Patrick: _< You are ridiculous.>_

 

Pete: _< duh. but srsly, hows the song? did u scrap wat they sent or just Stump it up??? :D>_

 

Patrick: _< I’m about to just start from scratch…we’ll see. I’m probably going to be working late on this.>_

 

Pete: _< boooooo but wat about catching up on GoT!?!?!! :’( SPOILERS THREATEN!! THIS IS SERIOUS!!!>_

 

Patrick: _< Sorry.>_

 

Pete: _< Maybe ill forgive u but u will have 2 make it up 2 me ;) ;) I kno its gonna be the greatest song evaaahhhhhh tho!!!>_

 

Patrick: _< We’ll see.>_

 

Pete leaned back in his seat, willing himself to pay attention. Being the CEO of a brand like Decaydance that not only administered music contracts, but did all the artwork and branding for some of the coolest bands around, plus direct marketing on social media and fashion design, was the greatest gig Pete could imagine, short of being in a band himself. Plus, he was damned good at his job. It had been his idea to have the bands sport Decaydance clothing in their posters and videos, which helped sell the clothing line, but also saved a bundle on the shoots themselves. Wardrobe could get expensive, and new bands starting out usually couldn’t absorb those costs.  

 

In short, Pete loved discovering and protecting new and upcoming bands. He loved it more than he could ever put into words. But fuck on a stick, if budget meetings weren’t the worst things in the world. Pete wondered idly to himself if he could hire someone to just do the boring things he hated and then give them a bonus if they could update him on all of it once a day in under five minutes. The idea was actually really tempting…

 

His pocket buzzed again, and he pulled out his phone. 

 

Patrick: < _Sorry for being pissy. Just…nothing’s working today and I’m trying to not let it get to me. Love you. >_

 

Pete: _< luv u 4ever even wen ur a mad genius control freak, lunchbox xoxoxoxo>_

 

Smiling, he looked at the charts that represented stock growth, investments and output…blah blah blah. His mind drifted back to his husband…his talented, gorgeous, self-deprecating-as-fuck husband. 

 

Talk about tempting.

 

Patrick liked to pretend like he wasn’t anything special, that Pete deserved the limelight more for his front-row running of Decaydance, but for all his stupid shyness and fame-sidestepping, Patrick was the real reason that the company had amounted to anything. Some people might complain about having a spouse who worked from home, but not Pete Wentz. His husband worked harder than pretty much everyone he knew—including himself. As an added bonus, he was also a fantastic cook, on top of being  a musical god. 

 

Pete had never met someone who could literally play every instrument he’d ever come across, and also had the compositional talent of Mozart and Prince put together. Patrick could just look at lyrics and find the catchiest tune, or write the notes that would carry a song from interesting to groundbreaking. He also had the most amazing voice EVER, but staunchly refused to sing in public. Pete was the only person in the world who knew that Rick Truncus—an unpaid Decydance intern who provided the background vocals for almost every group in the brand—was actually their brilliant-but-unassuming producer and composer, Patrick Stumph. He hadn’t even told Pete he had been recording and adding his voice to tracks for nearly six months. Pete just figured it out on his own; _Rick_ was Patrick’s mom’s name for him, and _Truncus_ was Latin for “stump”. He had been so tickled at his ploy in such a geeky way that Pete had rolled his eyes, but had also fallen in love all over again. 

 

Pete loved the little laugh that would fall from Patrick’s lips when he was miffed but also a bit happy to show something off, the little smile he would only give to Pete when he was first waking up after sleeping in on a Saturday…and God, those lips. Those beautiful lips that were talented at everything under the sun…

 

He also loved that Patrick was a dominating son of a bitch. 

 

It was a secret that Pete was pretty sure only a few people in the world knew. They saw Patrick professionally as a musician, a producer, a bit of a savant when it came to songs. They saw him personally as shy and caring, a bit awkward sometimes, with bursts of dorky excitement when a topic came up he was passionate about. But in bed? He knew the truth—Patrick was _in control._ He took and he bound and he bit and he sucked and he slapped and he _commanded_ and Pete _loved_ it. Blood began to flow to places that would be embarrassing if he had to stand up…and he took a deep breath. The finance head _finally_ transitioned to a new chart—this one with colors—and Pete reluctantly dragged his mind away from his husband’s lips and bedroom proclivities (and what he wanted him to do with them), and attempted to pay attention.

 

~//~

 

It was nearly ten when Pete decided it was time to check up. 

 

He had come home late—staying at the office building’s bar with coworkers to watch the Cubs-Dodgers game. It had been a good one, Cubs leading until the bottom of the last inning, when the Dodgers had hit a double to win the game. Pete of course loved his hometown team, but couldn’t find it in his heart to be too upset. It had made him grin affectionately to think of Patrick grousing if he had been there. He had never taken to Los Angeles like Pete had, and would never root for anyone but the Cubs. 

 

Catching a cab home, the pleasant buzz of the beer had thrummed through him, making him talk incessantly to the cabbie—his name was Max, he had three kids, one of whom played soccer, also loved Giovanni’s Super Sub and had the coolest tattoo of a Lego man that Pete had ever seen—and when he got home he had fairly bounced in the door. The silent house had stopped him short…that meant Patrick was in Full Hibernation Mode, which meant there would be no chance of their Game of Thrones marathon that night. Pete had changed and said hello to Patrick when he came out to use the restroom, but the younger man had that lost look on his face, like he was a deer in the headlights of a melody that just wouldn’t turn off. Normally, Pete found this expression totally adorable, but he was feeling bored and needy, so it was decidedly not as cute as usual.  Patrick had let him press a kiss to those lips he had been thinking about all day, but Pete could tell it was more an allowance than anything else. There was only music on Patrick’s brain when he got into a mood like this.

 

After playing around on the xbox shooting everything that moved for a while, playing on his phone, and eating half a bag of cheetos, Pete decided it was time to save his husband from himself. Also, he was even more bored than before, and his skin was buzzing in that way that meant he needed attention, interaction, _something._ Anything but solitude. Turning off the TV and the lights, he headed upstairs.

 

Patrick had left the door ajar, even though he’d sequestered himself in their office all day, bent over his computer at the corner desk. He alternated furiously typing with his headphones crammed over his ears and shoulders hunched like he was walking into a strong wind, and then listening to whatever held him in a thrall, one hand smashing the left earpiece into his head and the other drumming out a beat on the desk. The beats became increasingly frenzied as his glare intensified, keystrokes and mouse clicks becoming more and more aggressive as Pete watched from the doorway. Finally, Patrick pulled off the headphones with a strangled grunt and threw them onto the desk. His hand continued tapping the beat as he ran the other through his hair.

 

Pete knew that when things started getting thrown it was a sure sign that it was _Time To Intervene._ He needed it, and Patrick definitely needed it. 

 

Moving into the room, he made sure his footfalls were loud enough to avoid startling his easily-frightened husband. When he closed the distance between them, Pete nuzzled his neck, pressing a kiss against it that started soft but turned into a playful bite as he wiggled suggestively against him. His hand snaked down towards Patrick’s crotch, but before he could reach his objective, a pale hand clamped around his wrist like a vice.

 

“Stop it.”

 

There was no playfulness there, nothing for Pete to latch onto. The words were edged with the tempered steel that he usually loved, but it was almost overwhelmed with grit, frustration and some actual anger. For a moment, Pete froze, wondering if this was the wrong tactic, if maybe he should just leave Patrick alone and go get him pizza and whiskey instead. But then again…that silken edge was _there._ Calling to him.

 

He decided to chance it.

 

“Yes, sir.” His body sank to the floor, muscles slipping into the blissful release of compliance as he knelt back on his heels beside the chair. He pulled his hand from Patrick’s slackening grip to place them both at the small of his back and lowered his eyes. For a long moment he stayed like that, the silence of the room echoing back the only other sound—Patrick’s sudden intake of breath. When nothing happened, he looked up and gave Patrick a look he hoped was submission laced with just the barest hint of flirtatious invitation. 

 

Patrick’s lips were set in a line, and Pete could see the tension in his shoulders, in his neck. He breathed out through his nose and his posture softened, just a bit. 

 

“You really should just go to bed. You don’t want me like that tonight.” He said it like a statement, but Pete heard the hidden question, the unvoiced plea. Patrick _wanted_ it…he was just afraid. Afraid to let go, to surrender to the simple call of dominance and submission in his worked-up state.

  
But Pete knew him better than that. Everyone thought that Patrick was the only deep thinker, the only one who let his thoughts bounce around his head before spewing them out into the world. If only they knew how much Pete let things that really intrigue him and really matter to him just _marinate_ in his mind. He could rival anyone’s perceptiveness when he really wanted to…and he knew what Patrick needed. Plus, it was just a bonus that he would enjoy the fuck out of it. 

 

Pete looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I do. You need this.”

 

Patrick looked back at whatever was holding him in a thrall, but then moved to run a single finger down the outside of Pete’s shoulder, guitar calluses catching delightfully on his skin. Eyes the color of oceans and cloudy skies and rolling hills came back to meet his own, and Pete saw resolve and frustration mingled in their depths. Patrick smiled finally, a tiny upturn of his lips, and Pete breathed a sigh of relief and anticipation. 

 

“Get undressed and on the bed.” 

 

Pete scampered to obey, shedding clothes as he went. He sat in the same position he had taken on the floor, eyes downcast, waiting as Patrick went behind him to the closet and began to rifle through their box of toys.

 

“Lie back.” Patrick’s voice was controlled, the timbre slightly lower than normal and perfectly even . Pete complied instantly and reclined against the pillows.. After fastening his hands above him with a pair of black velcro restraints, Patrick moved to secure a simple ring at the base of Pete’s semi-hard cock. 

 

A groan fell from Pete’s lips as he realized he was really going to get it tonight…and he got even harder at the thought. 

 

Patrick settled between Pete’s legs. “Why did you say I needed this?” He squeezed some lube onto his hands and began stroking Pete’s cock gently, lazily, and it stirred to life under his touch. Pete met his eyes, and saw the stormy grey had taken over, like frozen waves crashing against the pines on a rocky seashore.

 

Pete considered a moment. “You need _something_ to do what you tell it to. Figured it might as well be me.” 

 

Patrick’s lips curved into a smile that held no warmth, only silent assent. His shoulders were rigid, refusing to relax. He hummed in response, eyes contemplatively roaming Pete’s body. 

 

“You’ll be good for me? You won’t come until I say?” Pete could see the heat written all over his husband’s face, the ache for _something_ to obey him, for _something_ to just _work. out. right._ Happiness blossomed in Pete’s chest right next to the arousal at realizing that he had guessed correctly with this whole crazy plan, that he had figured out how to help Patrick in a way only he could. Nodding silently, he let out a gasp as Patrick began brushing the outside of his hole with featherlight strokes. “Say it, Pete.”

 

“I’ll be good.” The words came out in a rush, ending in a breathy gasp as Patrick eased a finger into him, curling it almost immediately to softly caress that spot that shot fire into his veins. Pete arched up into it, a mewling groan falling from his lips. Patrick smiled again, that tense expression full of calculation and restraint, and added a second finger. The hand on Pete’s cock slowed to a maddening pace, and it was all Pete could do to keep his mouth shut and not beg for Patrick to fuck him senseless. 

 

Patrick hummed appreciatively as Pete’s dick swelled to its full thickness, dark and pulsing in his hand. “So nice…all for me?” The last came out with a low-pitched question mark at the end that made sparks skitter down Pete’s spine. He nodded vigorously as Patrick’s eyes bored into him, all intensity and possessiveness _,_ thunderclouds and an echo of lightning. The barest hint of a smile flirted around his full lips, pink and wet where his tongue darted out to moisten them. “I don’t want you to close your eyes, Pete. Can you do that? Can you keep looking at me?” 

 

“Yes.” The answer fell from his lips instantly, carried on a sigh of pleasure. Patrick smiled fully now, finally, mouth stretching into a wicked grin that made Pete almost forget his promise as the heat from those storm-cloud eyes threatened to set him on fire. But he didn’t, he remembered just in time and kept them open, tethered to Patrick’s as though they were the only thing connecting him to land, his only anchor in a frozen ocean. A pulse of pride skittered through him that he remembered, that he could keep it together and _obey_ …

 

But then Patrick scooted backward and that mouth opened a little, pink lips parting in a positively _sinful_ way as his tongue flitted out and licked a stripe up his shaft from base to tip, eyes never breaking contact. Pete gasped out a strangled cry, the teasing touch making him feel like dying in the best way, but multiplied as Patrick’s gaze stayed riveted on his own—taunting, intimate, possessive. It felt to Pete almost like he was a voyeur, watching something that he shouldn’t be seeing, glimpsing a moment that should be shrouded in groans and the blackness of his eyelids. Patrick continued his slow torment. He circled the head torturously, never taking it fully into his mouth. He would lick stripes up his shaft, then press open-mouthed kisses around the ring. Pete squirmed and panted out shuddering breaths as he continued to watch, eyes never leaving their focal point. Then, Patrick grinned devilishly and sucked the entire head into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the sensitive flesh and sent crackles of pleasure through Pete’s whole body.

 

Pete’s head snapped back without any conscious thought as he bucked his hips up to try to thrust deeper into the delicious heat. All thoughts of obedience were obliterated as _need_ took over.  Too soon, though, it was gone, and pain was shooting through his groin as Patrick bit the inside of his thigh. Pete cried out from both the loss and the sensation, and his cock jumped all the same as the pain pushed him even closer to the edge. His head fell back down, and his eyes snapped back to Patrick’s like magnets pulling together. 

 

“I said, _look at me_ , Pete.” There was a maelstrom in Patrick’s eyes, hungry admonishment and a bit of fiendish delight. The frustration from the day still coiled in the set of his shoulders and the lines of his mouth, but Pete didn’t mind. He knew it wasn’t directed at him, and he was more than willing to let Patrick work it out on him.

 

“Yes, Patrick.” Pete took a shaky breath.

 

Patrick went back to his teasing. He kept alternating between licking and engulfing the inflamed head of Pete’s leaking cock in the tantalizing wetness of his mouth. Slick fingers returned to his hole, working him open, gently feathering the place that made his legs twitch and lightning course through his veins. Patrick added a third finger, the stretch just enough to counterpoint the fucking _illegal_ motions of his mouth. He pulled off for a moment, voice scratchy and hungry. 

 

“So obedient. You like watching my mouth, don’t you?” 

 

Desperately, Pete nodded but kept his eyes open and locked on his husband’s. The relentless, dominating gaze raking over his naked, vulnerable body felt like a physical touch, a powerful force that pressed mewling cries from his parched throat almost as much as the incredible sensation of Patrick’s mouth on him. 

 

“Should I finish you like this? Could you keep looking at me if I did that?” Pete whimpered as the need for release warred with the need to obey, to be good. After a long moment, he finally decides.

 

And shook his head _no._  

 

Patrick gave him a look, one that he knew intimately from the frequency with which it was directed at him. It was the look of _Patrick Calling Pete’s Bluff_ —daring him to up the ante, to make good on his antics. Gazes still firmly locked together, Patrick pressed another wet kiss to his aching shaft, dragging his teeth gently up to the head before lapping at the tip and curling his inserted fingers with just the barest of pressures against his prostate. Pleading cries for release swirled behind Pete’s lips, but he kept them locked away and reminded himself of the prize, the goal. 

 

“What do you want?” Patrick rasped.

 

Pete hissed between his teeth as Patrick’s breath fanned warm and moist along his over-sensitized dick. Those strong fingers worked his hole, tantalizingly pulling pleasure through his body like a feedback circuit, those stormy eyes seeming to stare straight into his soul, hungry and wanting. Then the tip of one of those slender digits stroked _just_ the right place, and Pete was crying out between shuddering gasps.

 

“Fuck me, Patrick please, chrissakes I need you to—”

 

Moving with the languorous grace and speed of a cat of prey, Patrick crawled up his body and claimed his mouth in a searing kiss, then dragged his teeth along Pete’s lower lip, the barest counterpoint of pain to the mind-numbing glory of Patrick’s mouth against his. 

 

“Such filthy language…” Patrick’s voice was wry and husky as he mumbled against Pete’s lips, tangling a hand into his hair and pulling as his mouth worked. He began to kiss down his neck, biting and sucking, licking and teasing, as his hand worked around Pete’s cock, soft strokes that did nothing to get him closer but only kept him wanting _more_. Pete squirmed, gasping for breath and trying not to scream in exquisite torment. 

 

“Please, Patrick, I fucking need you.”

 

Pushing reddish-blonde hair out of his eyes, Patrick gave him a predatory grin. “Maybe. But if you’re going to say filthy things with that mouth, you may as well _do_ something with it…”

 

Pete nodded jerkily, eyes riveted to Patrick’s hands as he started undoing his fly and pushed his pants down and off. Pulling down his briefs, he moved to kneel over Pete’s chest, running his hands along his arms softly before clamping a hand to where his wrists were attached to the headboard. His cock was hard already, a bead of precome moistening the tip. Pete licked his lips and tried to lift his head enough to lick it off, desperate for the taste of Patrick in his mouth. 

 

But then Patrick’s other hand fisted his his hair and pulled his head back roughly, pushing his head into the pillows. “No. You get what I give you, nothing more.” Pete gasped at the pain from the hand in his scalp, hips bucking helplessly as it shot straight to his groin. 

 

“Yes, Patrick.” 

 

The words came out strained and breathless as air moved through Pete’s constricted windpipe, neck arched up as Patrick’s hand pushed his head back. He wanted something, anything…Then the hand in his hair lessened it’s pressure, softening and letting his head back up. Patrick’s cock was inches from his face, dark and hard. Pete licked his lips unconsciously, and his eyes flicked upwards. Patrick was grinning tightly, eyes dark with lust as he removed his hand from Pete’s hair and began to languorously stroke himself, gaze never wavering. Pete groaned at the sight, his own cock twitching sympathetically with each movement, like it was somehow linked with Patrick. 

 

“Do you want it?”

 

“ _Please…”_ Pete felt like if he didn’t do _something_ he might explode. Patrick smiled and lowered his cock, smearing precome around Pete’s lips. 

 

“Open your mouth.” Pete obeyed, keeping still as Patrick slid in. A low moan shuddered out of him, low and hungry. He moved his tongue, swirling it around the bottom of Patrick’s shaft. A strangled curse fell from Patrick’s lips and he began to move, carefully fucking Pete’s mouth. Pete sucked and teased as skillfully as he could, not caring if Patrick hadn’t _technically_ said he could do that. The moans and gasps falling from his husband’s mouth made any disobedience worth it. His own neglected cock throbbed, crying out for friction, _anything_ , and Pete sternly ignored it as he relished the way Patrick was starting to groan. “So good, baby, you’re so good at that, so amazing…” His heart swelled at the praise and at the noises coming from those lips.

 

With a wet _pop,_ Patrick pulled away and pushed down his body, sliding briefly over Pete’s cock. After so long without attention, it seemed to electrify at just the brief contact, and he whimpered as it slid away. He couldn’t tell but he would have sworn Patrick’s hands were shaking as he grabbed lube and slicked himself up, pressing slippery fingers into him again, making sure Pete was ready. He groaned at the contact, words starting to fall carelessly from his lips. 

 

“Yes, Patrick, please, fuck, I need you, need you so bad…. _ohmygodddd_. _”_ His pleas turned into a groaning exhalation of bliss as Patrick slid into him, inch by beautifully agonizing inch. The stretch burned in the best way—Patrick was _very_ well-endowed, a fact that Pete loved to remind him with a whisper in his ear whenever someone made a joke about him being short. That would make Patrick blush furiously (though nobody ever knew why), and it usually ended up with a well-placed Stumph elbow in his ribs.

 

Patrick’s face as he buried himself in his body was everything Pete needed to see in that moment. His face was smooth, eyes closed, and his mouth was hung open in awe, as though he were doing this for the first time. It was like all the tension and frustration of the day had bled out of him, revealing the face of his lover, his husband, his best friend. Pete tried to keep his eyes open and on him to savor the moment, but when Patrick’s hard length brushed his prostate in the most maddening way, his head jerked back almost on its own accord, a gasp falling from his lips. Taking a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes and looked at Patrick. He was looking down at him strangely, a wry smile on his lips but nothing but tenderness in his eyes. 

 

“So gorgeous.” The words were a whispered exhalation as Patrick leaned down to capture Pete’s mouth as he began to move, fucking him softly and carefully at first, but building faster with each successive thrust. Pete’s gasps turned to mewling cries against Patrick’s lips, his name the only thing he remembered until Patrick wrapped his hand around his neck, just enough to make his breath rasp in the most perfect way through his windpipe. The pleasant pins-and-needles began and made everything sharpen to just the ache of his weeping cock—the glorious stretch of Patrick inside him, the slide of their skin. Patrick’s voice floated across the hurricane of sensations. “You think you’ve been good enough to come?” 

 

A small part of Pete was gratified to hear the breathless way Patrick asked, the sheer, unadulterated desire in his voice and the rough drag of arousal that made it husky and hungry. The rest of him was consumed with a rush of heat at the question, all his attention focused on the throb of his raging hard-on that was being held in check by the cock ring. That beautiful, relentless hand released its hold on his neck, and essential oxygen flowed into his lungs. Patrick bit a bruise on his shoulder, the dull sting making his nerves vibrate like a plucked string tied directly to his groin.

 

“Yes Patrick _, please.”_

 

Patrick hummed low in his throat, fingers dipping down to twist Pete’s nipple sharply. 

 

“I think so too. But not until I say.” Slender fingers snaked between their bodies, and Pete moaned when they brushed against his cock. There was a soft click and the ring was gone, and he gasped at the almost unbearably intense feeling of freedom and the _need_ to come.

 

Patrick’s hand came up to fist in his hair, pulling his face up to look directly into his eyes as he plunged into Pete with bruising thrusts. Patrick always knew how to make him fall apart, how to angle just right so that fire shot through his body, making his toes curl and his arms tremble in their restraints. It was so good, too good, Pete could hardly hold on as every nerve in his body screamed for him to _let go_ , and his brain was rapidly losing its hold on the idea of _being good…_

 

“Come for me.” 

 

The words were low, intimate, commanding. Pete’s eyes squeezed shut and he _obeyed_ , muscles in his arms bunching into solid cords as he shook with the force of it, Patrick’s name torn from his lips with a shout as he came.

 

Everything narrowed for a moment to just the force of it knocking him into a place where there was just the sparking of his nerves hissing like used fuses, the pleasure a firestorm burning through him. But then his body was shot through with the next thrust, with Patrick desperately using his spent flesh as he neared the peak himself. It was _too much_ , but Pete Wentz was the king of _too much_ , his whole life was all about _too much._ He groaned into it, feeling the flames dancing through his veins like a spider on the strings of its web as Patrick plumbed his body, brushing his prostate and making his back arch as he pushed back against the feeling of overstimulation and felt the answering echo of pleasure. Mewling cries and whimpers tumbled from his lips, turning to a moan that felt like it was ripped from his guts as Patrick came, burying his face in Pete’s neck as he thrust once more to a sloppy finish.

 

They stayed like that for a long moment, sticky and sweaty and perfect, each gasping in a staggering counterpoint. Two beats that shouldn’t have worked together, but somehow they crashed together to make the world’s most beautiful melody. Pete’s legs protested after a while from being spread and wrapped around Patrick’s hips, and he shifted slightly. Patrick pulled back and rolled off with a contented little noise, and they both shuddered as he slipped from inside Pete. He lay there gasping for a moment, but then started as he realized why Pete hadn’t moved. 

 

“Oh god, babe I’m sorry. Here--” He reached up quickly and undid the velcro straps, then gently pulled Pete’s arms down to rest behind his head. “Don’t move for a minute.” He mopped up the mess they had made on their bodies with a pillowcase, and Pete hissed slightly as Patrick moved his legs and mopped at his hole softly. After he threw it aside, Patrick tended to Pete. He took Pete’s arms and rotated them gently, rubbed his shoulders and his wrists tenderly, and kissed the red marks left by the straps. Pete closed his eyes and floated between the perfect feelings of _holy-fuck-patrick’s-cock-rocks-my-world_ and _patrick-taking-care-of-me-is-the-greatest-feeling-ever._

 

After a long moment, Patrick stilled, only rubbing soft circles on the inside of Pete’s right wrist. Pete opened his eyes, to see Patrick looking at him strangely. His hair was mussed and sweaty, sticking up from his head a bit on the left side, and the blush was just starting to fade from his skin. But there was a smile on his lips that Pete was pretty sure nobody in the world had ever seen but him—small and confident, but with something that could almost be called awe. His eyes though…his eyes were back to the blue-green that Pete knew so well, peaceful and satisfied and _happy,_ the calm ocean after the thunderstorm. Pete’s heart felt squeezed in a vice of love to know that _he_ had made his husband feel that way.

 

Patrick leaned down and pressed a kiss to Pete’s lips, and he could feel that smile even as his mouth moved. It was slow and sweet, full of all the things that neither of them could ever quite find the words to would convey completely. Patrick pulled Pete close, using his foot to bring the covers up over them. 

 

Patrick’s arms were wrapped around him with just the right amount of pressure—anchoring him, surrounding him, and keeping him safe for what seemed like a small eternity, until he spoke again. “Was that alright?” The words were mumbled into Pete’s scalp, and then Patrick pressed a kiss to his hair where the words had settled like songbirds. Pete hummed an acknowledgement, too perfectly wrung out to form words. A tinge of uncertainty floated on them, and Pete pulled back, incredulous. 

 

“You’re kidding, right? Were you not there? Cause I’m pretty sure I made it very clear how much that was the greatest thing ever.”

 

Patrick’s smirk was fond, and he squeaked in the most adorable way as Pete nipped at his neck before nuzzling back into his chest. 

 

“Just making sure.” There was silence for a long moment and Pete felt like he was floating in a sea of happiness. Patrick caressed his back softly, and let out a sigh of contentment. “You’re the best. Have I told you that lately?” 

 

“No, but I’ll take it.” Pete pressed a kiss to the smooth skin under his mouth and let the waves of sleep pull at him, surrendering. “But as amazing as I might be, you are a _god_ in the sack.”

 

Patrick’s low laugh followed him to sleep.


End file.
